Poetry

A toddler unrobes the secret
of death. Modifies the circadian
rhythm of honeybees, opens the
daisy clock. Cage of tears.

The virus had the acrid odor
of sulphide. Decay. It never happened
before. Spring was helpless. Primrose
forgot to secrete the nectar.

Stones were everywhere,
on beds, fabrics, eyes and berets.
The white walls were painted with
blue camels. Smiling?

A cold moon walks on coiled snakes
consuming the venom of incendiary itch.
The grey people were dancing on broken
glass. Blood will make the visitation.


Satish Verma